It was 1983, and I was around 15 years old. During that year’s Durga Puja, around October 10–12, I got my very first opportunity to perform a solo ghazal concert. At that time, we lived in Bokaro Steel City in a cooperative housing colony where my father had built our home. The colony had around 400–500 houses, and at its center was a large ground where the local Triveni Puja Committee organized grand celebrations every year.
I had been participating in music competitions since childhood, winning prizes at several local events. Perhaps because of my earlier wins, including a first prize in a ghazal competition organized by the Bokaro Steel Recreation Council, the committee entrusted me with a rare opportunity — a full 90-minute solo performance. At just 15, this was an exhilarating moment.
I was fortunate to be accompanied by three highly respected senior musicians. Surjeet Sinha on tabla, whose mastery of rhythm was inspiring; Sir Rana Jahaji on harmonium, a revered guru of classical music; and Bapida on guitar, a neighbor and teacher who later went on to perform in Mumbai and Kolkata. Their support gave me immense confidence and made the experience unforgettable.
Most of the ghazals I performed were inspired by legendary singers like Jagjit Singh ji, Pankaj Udhas ji, Anup Jalota ji, and Talat Aziz ji. The Talat Aziz ghazal I performed was “Raaste Yaad Nahin, Rehnuma Yaad Nahin”, a challenging piece I managed to prepare. Importantly, the preparation for this concert was not something I started just for this event — it was the result of years of listening, learning, and practicing ghazals that I loved from childhood. I did, of course, refine my renditions and prepare a few new ones specifically for the concert.
A significant part of my preparation came from home. Many of the ghazals I sang were pieces my parents had composed at home. My mother, associated with Akashvani, used to sing songs, ghazals, and bhajans from lyrics provided by the radio station, and my father would compose the music. I would listen to these with them, absorbing every nuance. My father would also tune in to ghazals on the radio, noting their timings and melodies late into the night, and I would join him. This immersive environment, along with countless hours spent listening to cassettes and records at friends’ houses, shaped my understanding and appreciation of ghazals, which naturally helped me secure this concert.
Even at school, encouragement came from unexpected places. My history teacher, Mr. Das Gupta, who loved Mughal history, arranged a school gathering where I performed “Lagta Nahin Dil Mera Ujray Diyar Mein.” I was always drawn to performing ghazals, and receiving support in such gatherings further fueled my passion.
Some of the ghazals I remember performing during my first solo concert include:
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“Honthon Se Chhoo Lo Tum” — a romantic song I continue to sing to this day.
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“Raaste Yaad Nahin, Rehnuma Yaad Nahin” by Talat Aziz.
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“Kamsin Ho Mohabbat Ki Baatein, Tum Kya Samjho, Tum Kya Jaano” by Anup Jalota.
Many popular ghazals of that era were also part of my repertoire, some of which I still sing today. I also clearly remember that I was paid three hundred rupees, which I happily divided among the three musicians, though their blessings were far more valuable. For senior and respected artists to agree to accompany a young, new performer was an incredible encouragement.
Even after more than 40 years, the memories of that Navratri concert remain vivid. The music, the guidance of my parents, the support of senior musicians, and the audience’s warmth all shaped my journey as a ghazal singer. Sharing this story now, as Navratri is underway, feels like coming full circle — a beautiful reminder of how music has been an integral part of my life from a very young age.
